Come On, Come Here
by Laree England
Summary: Merlin and Arthur have always shared a soul, but now, as Merlin tries to stand boldly in the face of his impending destiny, a schism has somehow formed. Arthur rectifies that.


**Dedicated to my gorgeous girl, AlxM, for being such a wonderful human.**

**Title taken from New York by Snow Patrol.**

Arthur hated that Merlin never smiled anymore. It was another one of those silent truths that he kept at the level of being a simple honesty deep in his subconscious, never allowing it to form into a full idea, never allowing it to claim words to describe itself, never allowing it to lift fully fledged from his tongue, past his lips and into the air to be caught by any ears standing close enough. Arthur possessed a great deal of these truths. The truths that outlined just how much he cared, not just about princely things, though his capacity to devote himself to such things was limited only by the sky, but deeply personal things, as well. Like Merlin, and how much he needed him. There was no longer any aspect of Arthur's life that did not have a touch of Merlin infused with it. Anywhere from, in the physical world, the battlefield to his quarters, or, in his mental world, his speeches to his emotions, he could depend on the one constancy that had taken up residence in his life: Merlin. Merlin was a thing he could tether himself to. Merlin was what he could trust to guard his soul as he abandoned himself to carry out his duties, and to give it back untarnished when Arthur could step back into himself once again.

When something-someone-so fundamental in his life was altered in such a drastic way as a complete abandonment of smiles from Merlin, Arthur's world teetered, and he felt unbalanced. He felt this way now, sitting at his desk, quill unmoved on parchment as he watched Merlin watch the world. No longer did that optimism which relied on destinies and great accomplishments add that look to his servant's eyes that was just so _Merlin_.

Arthur had no way to know what ailed the mind of his servant, but he knew that some sort of wound festered in the mind of his friend, and that part of him that reared up and roared when an injustice struck the world with its leaden weight uncoiled inside of him now, for it was a severe injustice indeed for the world-for him-to be robbed of Merlin's unceasing light. The aura of discontent and rioting emotions hung around Merlin like a swarm of blood-sucking insects, drawing out the color of his cheeks, the mirth in his voice, the light in his eyes. Arthur needed that light as much as he needed food, and right now, his soul was starving.

It made Arthur's chest ache to know that something inaccessible and incurable to him ailed his friend. However, Arthur was never one to bow down to impossible prospects, albeit that trait primarily had been drawn by Merlin's omnipresence at his side, and he would have to rely on his own strength alone for this task. If he could not unroot the source of the discord inside Merlin, he would strive to at least ease the symptoms.

The endless cycle of what if's and thoughts of what the future held that chased themselves around dizzyingly in Merlin's head without rest was penetrated when a steady, nurturing hand laid its pressure upon his shoulder. Merlin had always ran cold, feeling heat the most acutely of anyone he had known, and the warmth of the contact that rested on his shoulder was almost ethereal to him now. It was not a surprise that such a hand would belong to the apotheosis of his life, but it was surprising that the man would reach out with this kind of gesture, so a jolt leapt through him, slight alarm prickling at his neck before it was immediately replaced by an overwhelming feeling of safety.

Merlin's eyes travelled from the window to his king, shaken to his core at what he saw there. Such deep, raw emotion that was a practical delicacy to witness in Arthur. The honor was not lost on Merlin, but still the oddness and rarity of the situation could not be pushed past so easily.

"Arthur?" Merlin asked, all confusion conveyed easily in the murmuring of a name. The limited but eloquent language developed from sharing one life together, sharing custody of a single soul for so long.

"Shut up," Arthur said, brisk, yet it steadied Merlin in a way a full speech never could have, simply because it was Arthur who said it.

Merlin's world halted in a collision. The wrapping of arms around him was gentle, but the crashing of their souls-divided from its usual state of singularity from Merlin's vehement denial, due to the hurricane of thoughts and unanswerable questions that hounded him constantly… there had been room for nothing else-was enough to drive the breath out of Merlin's lungs in a rush.

The arms held fast, the unyielding wood of a ship in a tempest. A hand fastened in his hair, and the other secured his torso. The strength of Arthur, everything he represented (love, bond, sturdiness, righteousness), was like a battle cry to the revolt inside of Merlin's mind, driving out the last doubt, every concern. The canyons that had carved themselves on Merlin's forehead, seemingly permanently, loosened and dissipated until they were no more. The strain in his body, the tension against the oncoming storm, and the storms that had already come, released, and Merlin felt unraveled, exhausted.

But he reacted in kind, his face diving into Arthur's chest so as to be completely enveloped in his presence. Love, bond, sturdiness, righteousness.

The light flickered.

His arms reached around his king's waist, anchoring himself to the only thing he had. Arthur. In this moment, they were each other's, and no one else's, nothing else's. They existed solely together, separated from the rest of the chaos of the outside the stone walls of Arthur's quarters. They breathed. They exhaled. Merlin and Arthur. For a precious, scarce handful of seconds, they simply existed.

It was from decency, not satisfaction, that they parted. However, even when Arthur stepped back, Merlin could still feel him in every fiber of his being. In his bones, his heart, his soul. The same could be said for Arthur. He had sparked that light back to fruition, and to him, it felt like a thousand glorious suns. For that's what Merlin was to him, and he to Merlin: the sun, the center of who he was.

"There you are," Arthur said, his eyes diving into Merlin's. "I missed you."

Merlin understood what he meant, and it all came flooding back. That thing that used to give him hope, used to give him something to believe in, but now destroyed him, tore apart his mind. However, Arthur was with him now, and the burden didn't hurt as bad.

"So did I," Merlin replied.

"Any chance of a smile?" Arthur said, surely meaning to sound light-hearted and joking, but Merlin knew him far too well. He could see the genuine longing in Arthur, and that was more than enough, because he realized that right then he was looking at his destiny. Not what he had thought it was, such a burden and fearful, but the man in front of him. Arthur was his destiny. Merlin did not know when he had lost sight of that.

"You're not alone, Merlin," Arthur said, utilizing his gift of voicing Merlin's exact thoughts. "You never have been, and never will be."

Merlin watched Arthur for a moment before replying. "I know," he said, and for the first time, he truly did.


End file.
